Holy Musical Batman!
by TheaLockhart
Summary: Your name is Aurthur Kirkland, and you are definetly not flustered about your outing with a certian hamburger idiot. Practicing 2nd person, feedback appreciated!


**Hello lovelies! So I thought I'd have a go at 2****nd**** person, that mystical style that nobody touches with a ten-foot pole. This is really a practice fiction, so any critique would be most welcome! Please, read away~ **

**I do not own Hetalia. **

Your name is Arthur Kirkland, better known as England, and you are extremely bored. You've done nothing but paperwork all day, and while there is nothing that could tempt you to let anyone else even suspect this, you are seriously considering ringing up a certain hamburger-loving idiot. Only a little bit, mind! It's only sheer desperation that is driving you to wonder about this. At leats, that's what you keep telling yourself…

Fine! So what if you can tolerate his company?! It's only because the other nations are no better! You'd rather die than talk with France… Bastard frog. Come to think of it, America is just as bad. He's an idiot that will not stop blabbering on about being the hero, he's constantly laughing (and that ticks you off no end- what on earth does he have to be happy about?) and he's always, _always_ eating.

You nod quietly to yourself, happy in your conclusion that America isn't worth your time and it would be less frustrating talking to the total spacehead Italy.

…You still want to call him though…

_Ugh. _

You give in to temptation and cast a quick look at the phone, lying tantalizingly close. Well… you could always blame it on America's inability to do anything, just say you took pity on him and decided to help out paperwork-wise… He'd find a way to drag it off topic anyways. Surely just one quick call couldn't hurt? You don't have anything better to do… besides the rest of that paperwork. That needs to be filed away by tomorrow.

Miffed by your shameful procrastination, you let out a short sigh. Really, what were you thinking? You are _the_ Great Britain, one of the most powerful nations on earth! You cannot simply neglect your duty to go run off with some childish idiot! A few deep breaths returned your sense of determination, marching over to the desk to tackle the mind-numbing forms once more.

Ignoring the phone twinkling innocently in the morning light pouring through the window, you settled easily into the motions of read, sign, read, sign… You'd gotten quite good at hastily skipping over the 'Hamburger Freak' contact when you were required to make a phone call too. It wasn't worth your time to talk to him; you had a country to run! But at the moment progress was halted as you waited for a certain perverted frog to return your call to confirm the details of the trade agreement. Now what…knowing France, he'd probably be off drinking expensive wine while surrounded by scantily clad girls…and guys…

Shaking both the immoral thoughts and your light blush away, you return to aimlessly sulking around your office in a vain attempt to find something useful to do. If there's one thing you hate, it's being useless… it makes you feel jittery. It also resurfaces the niggling desire to call America. Honestly, what did you get out of that mans company that caused you to be so tempted to shirk work so you could run off to your friend like some highschool vagabond?

…Don't answer that.

Pushing the uncomfortable thoughts aside you resume pacing, fighting despratley to think of something else. Work! Work was good, it required a lot of thinking meaning less room in your brain for a certain someone. Now, what else did you need to sign…

_Briiiiiiiiing! _

Well that was convenient. Obviously France is more reliable than you thought! Not that you'd ever tell him that, of course, he has a big enough head as it is. You pick up the phone without a second thought, your pre-prepared rant already on your lips.

"France, you bastard, it took you long enough..."

"_Hi Iggy! It's me!" _

What.

You vaguely register the thump of the phone hitting the floor as you stare, a flush jumping involuntarily to your cheeks as the sheer irony of it all hits you like a tidal wave. What the hell should you do?! You could always just hang up on him, it's not the first time you've cut the line...though if you're honest, you don't want to. Really, _really_ don't want to... Stupid hamburger freak, confusing you like this... Wait. The phone!

You dive over your desk in a desperate scramble for the receiver, sending your neatly stacked papers scattering across the floor but just for the moment, you can't bring yourself to care.

"A-America?!"

"_Hey, I told you to call me Alfred!" _

Okay, so it was your crus-The hamburger freak on the line and this wasn't all a cruel joke by France. Play it cool...

"Whatever. What do you want? I'm trying to run a country here!"

...A bit harsher than what you were going for, but still. You didn't like him, so it made sense that you were snappy! You quickly squash the niggling voice in the back of your mind that points out that you're more civil to France.

"_Aww, so harsh Iggy~ Can't I call up a friend to chat?" _

No he bloody well couldn't, not when he made you feel so flustered! Of course, he had no idea that you'd been avoiding calling him, but still...

"Look, I'm really busy, so state what you need or I'm hanging up!"

"_Ah, all right! You're so mean England." _

"I'm waiting..."

"_Fine, fine. Well...you know how you love musicals? There's a new one coming to town next Saturday, well my town anyway, and I was wondering if you wanted to go see it with me!" _

You're frozen. You can't breathe, you're heart has stopped. Has Alfr-_America_ asked you out? Like, going _out_ out? As in...I _like_ you so go out with me out? A peculiar warmth thaws you out of your frozen stupor and makes you painfully aware of your thumping heart and the phone in your hand. Whatever you do, you have to handle this. You can't just run away, you have to...

"_...Iggy?" _

_Click. _

You stare at the phone resting on its hook, not quite believing ehat just happened. Alfred...Alfred asked you _out_. This one thought ran in circles through your head as you flop in your favourite armchair, your face on fire from embarrassment and...happiness? Nervousness? You don't know, and don't really care. All that matters is that you, the Friendless England, have been asked on a date, and the fact that it was by Alfred made it all the more special.

Wait.

Since when did you call him Alfred?

Your eyes squeeze shut and you hug your knees to your chest, as if to cling the peculiar, but not unpleasant warmth that came from that name to yourself. Alfred... it had a nice ring to it.

And you hung up on him.

...oh, bloody hell.

Well, he was always stubborn, so maybe he'd show up anyways? A, and it wasn't like this really mattered to you, so... You'd just dress up nicely all Saturday, and if he didn't show up it was no great loss. Nodding stiffly to yourself, you take a few moments to regain your haughty composure before marching out of your office, scattering forgotten papers in your wake. The trip home passed in a dazed blur, a hazy swirl of colours before you collapse on your big, gorgeous king-sized, four poster bed with the Union Jack cover you adore so much.

It was only in the safety of your bed that you allowed yourself to smile.

**USUK is love 3 But should I keep going, or quit while I'm slightly ahead? Please review with much-loved comments! Thank you dearies~ **


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